The emo that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

Although I’m smack in the middle of life I have an overwhelming sensation that I’m at the end of a long parabola, like a cannon ball flying out of the air to bury itself in mud. Looking back out of the hole I can see the vapor trail of my flight; ascent, apex, fall, and eventual landing. But where am I, and what next? Gah, there’s a bug on my nose.

It was Cognitive Slips Weekend as I carefully told stories to the people who’d originally told them, put frozen food in the cupboard, tripped over the cat, and forgot to pay important bills. I didn’t have to croc wrestle servers during the Super Bowl since we mostly solved those problems and my boss was on the job. I managed to cook a good dinner. Tip: the sweet smoked Spanish paprika is really good stuff. It gives a pleasant warm smoky flavor without much spicy heat.

We live as we dream, alone.

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